


We Will All be Stars

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: And Immortal, Apocalypse, Cecil is Inhuman, I killed Carlos again, I'm Sorry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil is immortal, and fated to continue his broadcasts for eternity. Even if that means leaving behind everything and everyone who has become important to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Will All be Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Not entirely pleased with this, but heck, I always like writing a character death fic. 
> 
> Also, this is my 50th fic published here on Ao3. Haha, dang.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! Or be sad. Either way.

Carlos always knew that he would never leave Night Vale. He knew because of the way that Cecil held him tight in his arms, tight enough that had started to feel like they were no longer two separate bodies. But he also knew because of the deep, thick seep that seemed to soak every last bit of the town and its inhabitants. The finality that permeated everything in the town, that gnawing feeling in ones gut that chewed quicker when one came across the bright yellow END sign marking the cessation of a rocky desert road. 

But despite this, Carlos had come to believe that he had some strange, selective immunity to the everyday terror and fatality that seeped viscous through even the most commonplace day-to-day events in the town. The sheer catastrophe he always seemed to just barely dodge, with infinitesimal odds always managing to pull through in his favor, had seemed to suggest such a correlation. Most of his team had died off within the first year, and he had almost died as well, but he _didn't_ , and that had led him to believe that somehow, he was being protected. Cecil was protecting him, that somehow all of Night Vale had come together to stave off the reaper for the sake of protecting him-- _perfect_ Carlos, crown jewel of a town full of citizenry disposable to his aegis. 

He should have known that taking such protection at face-value was naive.  

On one otherwise unremarkable desert night when he is one of only two bodies left in the lab, he hears the crack and hiss from the adjacent room and rushes over to see if what has been spilled needs to be contained or killed. Instead, he finds that in the place of where Dr. Kavur had been when Carlos had last checked up on him there is a broken beaker full of an inert blue liquid and a series of floating orbs. They are a mellow gold and completely silent. Carlos swears he can see his reflection, distorted within their depths. They float gently past him, leaving behind the broken beaker and the crumpled remains of clothing, brushing against his skin but not touching him. 

Frantically, Carlos stumbles back towards the radio, turning it on and hoping, _praying_ that Cecil has come back on the air and is explaining what is happening. The same familiar hiss and crack and the humming noise of the weather music fades into his ears just as the golden orbs disappear up through the ceiling of the lab. 

He turns on the radio, hoping that Cecil will be there, providing the answers, but instead he hears only the shuffle and hiss of white noise. Some quiet, folksy music track plays distantly amidst the radio fuzz, presumably the weather. Carlos waits for it to end. After thirty minutes, it shows no sign of doing so. Carlos' heart hammers in his chest as he shuts off the radio and rises to his feet. The hiss of the static and the lull of the music remains stuck in his ears.  

The sounds gel within the walls of the lab, growing so thick that Carlos can hardly think. He flees the lab, opening the door to take a sharp breath of clarity. The sound still echoes in his ears, but he can actually _think_ now. And the first thought that springs to his mind is that he needs to find Cecil and ascertain what is happening.

He forgoes his car and runs, heat beating faster as he races through the streets to the radio station. 

Everything is deserted, and awash with a dim, purple light from a moon that is far too large and close. Against the cool backdrop there are more of the same orbs; some floating close to the ground like fireflies, and others slowly ascending up into the sky until he can no longer distinguish them from the surrounding stars. 

He makes it to the radio station, following through the maze-like hallways that he now knows by rote, spurred by the anxious fear nipping at his heels. 

"Cecil," Carlos gasps, breathless as he throws open the door to Cecil's recording booth. He doesn't care if he's interrupting the broadcast--from what he's been hearing, Cecil isn't even actively reporting.

He isn't, instead he is sitting alone at his desk, head dipped down and shoulders hunched.  His hair is a mess, hanging down over his profile in wisps as he stares at the styrofoam cup of coffee cradled in his lap. 

"Cecil," Carlos stumbles over, hands groping out for his boyfriend, "Cecil, everyone in town, everyone is--"

"Gone?" Cecil finishes, stopping the scientist in his tracks. He still hasn't turned to face Carlos. The surface of the watery coffee in front of him occupies his attention, even though it is not engaged in its usual fluid tides and pirouettes. 

"You know? Then why aren't you reporting it? Why are you just--"

"Even the angels have left."

"What does that have---"

"Everyone is _gone_ , Carlos. Not just in Night Vale. Everywhere." 

Cecil's being more dodgy about answering questions than usual, and not in the way that Carlos has become accustomed too. Usually, Cecil would explain the bizarre happenstances of the town in a way that didn't answer Carlos' inquiry logically, but instead satisfied on a higher plane of--emotion? Even when Carlos didn't have a straight answer, he at the very least felt _sated_ by Cecil's responses. 

This time, that satisfaction is absent, and instead replaced by fear. Terror at the empty acquiescence in Cecil's voice. 

"E-Everyone?" His stomach turns. Cecil removes the coffee cup from his lap and sets it on top of the notes on his desk. He sniffs. 

"Cecil."

The man glances up. His eyes are slack, and his mouth is making tiny movements, as if he's not sure what he wants it to do. 

"What about me?" Carlos asks, dread building in his chest at the mere thought of the answer, if he receives any answer at all. God, he hopes for Cecil to gently take his hands, wrap him up in a secure hug with too many appendages, and assure him as he's assured him many times before that he will be fine, that Cecil would protect him. That he would never, ever let anything happened to _his_ perfect Carlos. 

Instead, Cecil stays seated, stays with his hands folded in his lap and with the same, sweet, simple smile on his face. His eyebrows are tilted upwards with a serene sympathy that Carlos can't even begin to dissect. He swallows. 

"Am I going to die?"

Cecil pinches the skin over his knuckles, planning out the words into his flesh before he says them allowed. 

"You saw the lights, didn't you Carlos? You must have. You must have seen someone turn. You must have seen them rise up into the sky."

"So I _am_ going to die?" He doesn't like the panic in his voice. Has he really gotten so secure with Cecil, despite the instability of life that was almost akin to a commandment in Night Vale that such an obvious end was making him lose his mind? He runs his hand up into his hair and makes a fist, tugging at his scalp as his eyes search the empty calm in Cecil's eyes for an answer. They are still flat and floating with sympathy. 

"Carlos. My poor, sweet Carlos. You are the only one left. Everything must come to an end. It--it has been known."

Cecil is speaking so sweetly, but the things he is saying take hold of Carlos brain and sap it of all typical thought. They make him feel hollow as he numbly tries to grasp for some last shred of logic. 

"It has been known? By who? The Secret Police? The City Council? Who? _Tell me._ "

Cecil shakes his head. 

"The Council governed. They cut, and kept down, and shut themselves away.They did not see, or report. They did not understand. They protected themselves from understanding."

Cecil's speaking in the past tense. Carlos wonders if that means that the Council is gone, like everyone else in Night Vale. He can't--he can't imagine that, the same City Council that had made writing and enjoying bread a near impossibility for him, who'd threatened him with re-education and execution on plentiful occasions, gone?

Gone, disappeared to--to wherever Carlos is going to go himself. According to Cecil and his sad, simple smile. He shivers, his hands absently reaching forward until they find the arms of Cecil's chair, and Cecil's hands in turn find the sides of his face. 

"Cecil, please," Carlos whispers, feeling the host's fingertips flick over his cheeks. 

"Where am I going to go?"

Cecil runs his thumb under Carlos eyes, spreading the tired, wrinkled skin gently under it in even strokes. 

"I cannot answer that, Carlos. I'm sorry. But--"

"No." Carlos mumbles, his eyelids quivering. 

"--don't worry. You'll be safe, you'll be calm and it'll be all right. Please. You won't be hurt." 

Cecil must have thought that to be comforting, as if telling someone that death was safe would be any kind of help to them. Anger rises up in him. How can Cecil be so resigned, as if he didn't care? Carlos balls one of his fists and grits his teeth, tearing his eyes away from Cecil as he raises his hand--

And he instantly kicks himself for that thought and loosens his fist because of _course_ Cecil cared. Cecil has always cared and he always will care, even after Carlos is gone. Cecil's eyes and words carry no apathy; they are weighted down with an inexorable reality that he's trying to soften and make palatable to the solitary person he cares for above all else. He's trying to make death as comfortable as he can for the only person he has left. 

Carlos' weakened knees give in, and he falls only for Cecil to catch him effortlessly with hands under his arms, with that unusual strength that always laid secret in his limbs and only came out when needed. Cecil diverts the force from his fall forward, Carlos unconsciously aiding him as his arms wend forward, looping loosely around the man's neck as Cecil cushions him gently on his lap. 

Carlos inhales, enjoys the simple act of breathing, for a good minute. He feels Cecil gently rub at his ribs, the touch spilling onto his back as he holds him closer. 

"Cecil. Will you..?"

"Oh, Carlos. I'm not going to go anywhere."

Carlos nods, breath huffing against Cecil's collar, causing it to flutter. 

Carlos is soon dozing, breathing evenly against Cecil's neck. The man is silent the entire time, allowing the weather track to continue its ceaseless play. Carlos tries not to think about the inevitability bearing down upon the both of them, instead trying to enjoy Cecil, and allow Cecil to enjoy him, for as long as the both of them physically can. Carlos has no idea what it will be like to be turned into whatever those orbs he had seen are. He doesn't know what he will feel, and Cecil will most likely not tell him, or simply not know.

At least Cecil will be with him. Right?

"Cecil," He mumbles sleepily. Cecil tucks his chin down in order to look at Carlos.

"What is it, sweet Carlos?"

The scientist shifts in Cecil's lap, sliding off a little bit. Cecil re-adjusts him, limbs Carlos had never felt before snaking more firmly around his body. 

"You," He stops, trying in vain to wet his lips, but the moisture wont come, "You said you're not going anywhere."

"I'm not, Carlos. I'm here for you."

Carlos shook his head dumbly against Cecil.

"No. _No_. That's not what I mean. That's not what you mean, you--where are you going to go?"

Cecil's placid smile falters for a brief moment. He restores it quickly, as if in hope that Carlos won't notice. 

"Don't worry about me."

"No," Carlos raises his head, his hand reaching up to grab onto the front of Cecil's shirt, "No, damn it, Cecil, I am _going_ to worry about you."

Cecil's hand follows his, rubbing over his knuckles before gently prying Carlos' fingers out of his shirt. He pushes his fingers in between Carlos', tucking them under to rub against his palm. 

"Please, Carlos."

"No," Carlos whimpers, "No."

He is so vulnerable, tucked in Cecil's lap, begging against the awful fate that Cecil must have accepted so long ago. The inevitability creeps back, now picking and choosing the organs out of him, and then taking the things that were _more_ than organs, the intrinsic bits and pieces that constitute everything he is. 

In the end the death is going to take more than his life, it's going to take Cecil, make Carlos abandon Cecil and leave him all alone in a dead town. A dead world.  

"I don't want to go," he whimpers, "I don't want to leave you, you don't deserve this. You don't deserve to be all alone."

He hears a hiss of breath next to his ear and feels the shudder of Cecil's chest against his cheek. Carlos looks up through his wet eyes, his heart tightening further as he sees that Cecil, despite his best efforts, is now also crying. 

The tear tracks burned down his cheeks, cutting into what remained of his skin into rivers of molten purple. Cecil was losing control of whatever constitution kept him in the human form. And oh Carlos wants to stay, wants to study whatever forms and secrets Cecil is hiding, wants to know everything about Cecil, wants to experience so much more. 

He reaches up, seeking to press his fingers onto the violet rivulets leaking down Cecil's face. The surface he touches doesn't feel like skin, instead like a soft gelatin that doesn't split underneath his fingers. Cecil shakes his head, discouraging Carlos' seeking touch. 

"You need to sleep."

Carlos shakes his head back. 

"I don't want to."

"You must. Carlos, you must sleep."

Cecil hiccups through his tears, which have dripped down his neck and are starting to eat at his collar. 

"Please don't fight it. Please sleep."

Carlos can hear the heart break in his voice, the voice that travels through his ears and down his throat and into his chest, constricting his heart until that too, breaks. He feels it split in his chest, streaming out in warm chunks. 

He closes his eyes, resting his head again against Cecil's collar. The weather has been going on for some time now, much longer than any music track practically should but Carlos isn't counting the minutes. Carlos wonders if it's on a constant loop, destined to accompany Cecil forever. To accompany him where Carlos can not.  

_Cecil_ … _love you._  

He's not sure if he speaks it or thinks it, but they're slowly becoming one in the same. 

Cecil is still telling him to sleep, but he's not tired. Carlos feels the uncontrollable warmth spreading from his core outwards to his skin. He shudders against it. 

He must be burning hot, yet Cecil is still holding him, gently running fingers through his hair. It's nice. It reminds him of his _abuela_ softly pulling at the curls in his hair, encouraging him to sleep in the muzzy aftershocks of a nightmare. It reminds him of something he does not really remember, reminds him of his mother gently rubbing the fuzz on his head for the first and last time mere hours after he was born. It reminds him of all the times that Cecil has followed this same motion, so many times that they had before blurred together, but now he remembers them all at once, in all of their absolute clarity and peace. 

Carlos remembers everything, too much of everything. 

And then, suddenly, he remembers nothing at all.

 

\----------

 

"...Hello, listeners. 

I regret to inform you that only moments ago, the last of our residents, our dear, beloved Carlos, _my_ Carlos, left us. 

He is gone.

Gone in a shower of bright bulbs, like all of you before him. His delicate, sable skin fading away into those many orbs, strung together in a human form for the last time before they dispersed. I saw myself in the soft deep of those lights, and I wonder if Carlos saw me one last time, reached for me as I reached for him, before he vanished through the ceiling of my booth. 

Before he left, however, he told me. Told me he loved me, and that, that alone will be more than enough to hold me over until, well. Eternity. 

My Carlos burned so very brightly in my arms, listeners. I held him close to me, lulling him into sleep even as he glowed with far too much energy to be contained by physical restraints. I held him close and told him how I loved him, even beyond the point where his mouth could no longer form words.  

I didn't leave his side, not until he left me. As it--as it always was meant to be. 

My apologies, listeners, for dwelling on such p-personal matters. I know not whether all this talk of Carlos will bring some form of retribution upon my person, as it has in the past. Station Management has been silent on the matter. 

Station Management has been silent for quite some time. 

You, out there, if you can still hear me, I thank you. Thank you for tuning in to what will be our final show, though I am hesitant to use that word, as it implies that my broadcast will end shortly. It will not. 

When exactly it shall end, I do not know. I am not so sure of the nature of eternity. While I have my theories, I am no scientist. 

I am...

Ah. I'm sorry, listeners. F-forgive me. 

I do wonder if perhaps time is cyclical, if perhaps this eternity that stretches long before me is simply the prelude to something else entirely. Maybe it will be exactly the same. Maybe it will be slightly different. Maybe everything in this new universe will exist slightly to the left of the one I currently occupy.  

Ah, perhaps that is wishful thinking. Perhaps. Whatever does happen, it will surely be a sight to behold. 

Listeners, if any of you still have the capacity to listen, or if you instead feel my voice absorb into your being, or even if you exist far beyond the scope of my words, please spare a thought for your faithful, humble community radio host and his tireless quest. Spare a thought, if you can, through your mind full of enthalpy and limitless comprehension. Spare a thought, from your thin consciousness, for me. 

Oh I must admit, Night Vale, that I am envious of stars. Envious of you. You who are now stars. Envious of you who are now incorporeal, of your existence in the mushy nothingness of death, the amber singularity that now binds you to everyone else, regardless of whether you know it or not. 

I envy the fact that you already know how everything will pan out. How it will all end. 

The frying of the surface into dusty cracks, the boiling of oceans. The folding of the sky as it creases closed like some massive, cosmic tome that's long past reached its epilogue. The burst or collapse of this massive balloon of earth and magma with its core sloughing towards emptiness, growing so cold. There are so many things that could be. So many things that I wish I could know, that I wish I could share with you all. 

But, I must do my duty as a journalist, Night Vale. I must do the work that you've come to expect of your community radio. I _am_ the last one left, after all. I must report these things as they happen, and not despair all that you know, all that I do not. Don't cry for me, Night Vale, oh no. You, who now plays among the funereal neutron stars, don't mourn me and my fate. I have known that this will be my present for so long now. I only wish…

Well. It no longer matters what I wish. 

Stay tuned for a ceaseless recitation of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass, from the re-printed Aramaic edition, accompanied by the periodic squeaking turns of my desk chair.  

And, as always, good night, Night Vale. 

Good night."


End file.
